


A Touch of Magic

by wittyy_name



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Blood, Falling In Love, Finding a Home in Each Other, M/M, Magic, Modern Supernatural, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Vampire Lance (Voltron), Witch Keith (Voltron), chill mountain vibes, courting, domestic life between a witch and a vampire, fall atmosphere and aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name
Summary: "Keith—" He feels his heart lurch as Keith squats down next to him. One hand on his wolf's head, scratching behind his ear. His eyes, however, remain fixed on Lance, and he had really hoped that the whole dry-mouth-lump-in-the-throat-heart-skipping-a-beat thing would've stopped happening when he turned, but here he is. Vampiric and still the flustered mess he was when he was human. "Buddy, I can't breathe—""You don't have to breathe," He says, that ghost of a smile still fixed and the whisper of amusement in his voice.It sends chills down his spine.Lance huffs as much as he can when there's a large wolf crushing his chest. "That doesn't mean it's not uncomfortable.""You'll survive." He pats his wolf one last time before pushing to his feet. "Better luck next time, Lance.""I'll get you one day, Keithy boy." He calls out as Keith walks away, disappearing from his vision and continuing down the path. "Just you wait."___________Keith is a reclusive witch living alone on a mountain, and Lance is a young vampire determined to court him.





	A Touch of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of fall and Halloween, here's a drabble I wrote last year. 
> 
> Mostly I just wanted to write about two supernaturals falling in love, finding a home, and being domestic as fuck in a cozy autumn atmosphere. It's that mountain aesthetic, y'all. It gets me every time.

Steps, silent as the breeze. Careful. Deliberate. Touching not a stray branch or fallen leaf. Silence comes naturally now, but moving like ink in the night had taken practice. To blend into the shadows. To live as one with them. To slink past someone's peripheral vision with little more notice than the shift of the light.

The human eye has blindspots, and the human mind is quick to disregard. This is where he lives. When he chooses to. When he needs to feed and when he needs to go unnoticed.

When he can't be himself. When he needs to disappear.

When he stalks his prey through the shadowed wood of twilight.

The sun has set, but the traces of it still touch the sky. The wake of its disappearance leave tendrils of pink and gold and purple, bleeding into the inky indigos of night. It doesn't hurt. These twilight rays. Direct like burns something terrible, but these? The light and color that trail behind the sun as it drops below the horizon? It's the closest he's been able to get to daylight in a long, long time.

He revels in it. Enjoys the shift between day and night. The moment of in between. The liminal space of change.

He enjoys seeing those warm and vibrant hues igniting his prey's porcelain skin. Bringing light and life and fire to his sharp features. Bringing out the purple hues deep set into his indigo eyes while simultaneously casting his irises to darkness.

His high cheek bones and thick brows.

Wide eyes and dark lashes.

Sharp jaw and sharp chin.

A scar rising up his cheek from his jawline.

Thick, dark hair, a mess and wild as it's wrangled back into a haphazard ponytail.

He's beautiful, and the fading twilight casts him in temporary fire. Warm and blazing. Before the night stretches, and he disappears into the dark. Illuminated by moonlight, made of silver and shadows.

Lance can't tell which one he prefers: bathed in flames or drenched in moonlight.

Unlike Lance, his prey's steps are not silent. Perhaps not nearly as loud as an ordinary human, but certainly not the whisper of movement that Lance's are. He is careful, but confident. He moves quietly, but doesn't bother to hide his passage.

He can also smell that familiar of his nearby. Can hear the snap of branches and the brush of foliage. Can't see him, but knows he's there. He's rarely far from his master.

Lance follows him for a while. Keeping his distance. Watches from the stretching shadows. Lingers in the darkness. Hovers off to the edges of his prey's vision, in the blindspots, in the spots where his mind will disregard any hint of movement. Stays downwind.

He can scent him on the breeze. That earthy scent with a hint of spice, of what he dares to call almost cinnamon. But there's something richer about it. Something darker and far more mouthwatering. A curbing edge of something he shouldn't be drawn to, but is all the same. Something bad for him, but craves all the same.

It's an addiction. His scent. Makes his mouth water and his fangs ache. He licks around one of them, feeling the sharpened point as he imagines, not for the first time, what it would be like to taste. Wonders if he tastes just as tantalizingly sinful as he smells.

Wonders if he'll be just as addicted to the bite of it on his tongue. Of his skin beneath his lips. Wonders what those fingers would feel like digging into his hair, scrambling nails across his skin. Wonders how that deep, scratchy voice of his would sound with Lance's teeth in his neck.

The hours pass as Lance trails in his wake, following him through the forest. He sticks to familiar paths and trails. Steps familiar and sure. A bag slung casually over one shoulder. He pauses every now and then, and Lance slinks in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Watching as his prey checks talismans that hang innocently from selected trees. Carved and burnt into wood, cut thin and small and non-assuming. Hanging from branches in places that aren't easily noticeable from the trail.

He checks them. Holds them delicately between fingertips. Runs the pad of his thumb over them. Occasionally he pulls them down, slipping them into his bag before pulling out another. A newer one. Hanging it in the same place.

And then he moves on. To another. And another.

Sometimes he stops at trees, running exposed fingertips over the carved symbols set deep into the tree's bark. Seems like an absent touch. Looks almost lost in though, expression contemplative but at peace as he hums low enough to be lost in the night but easily picked up by Lance's ears.

He's impatient. Can feel the anticipation and the excitement simmering beneath his skin. Can feel it bubbling through his veins and buzzing through his limbs. Still, he waits. Stays silent. Takes his time. Savors the scent of him on the wind and on his tongue.

Waits.

Waits.

Waits because he knows it'll be worth it.

Watches.

Bides his time.

Keeps his eyes on his prey because he's always been hard pressed to look anywhere else whenever he's around. Watches, but listens to the forest around them. Keeps tabs on his familiar's steps nearby. Waits until those footsteps become faint and distant. Until they're alone...

When the moment strikes, he doesn't hesitate. He had always been driven by instinct and intuition, and that has only amplified in this new state of existence. Instinct is powerful. Driving. And when his body knows, he trusts. Acts on it faster than it takes to blink.

In the moments between breaths, between heartbeats, Lance darts from the shadows. Slips from them seamlessly, leaving no ripples in his wake. Rushes from the trees and onto the path. Eyes set on the man, his prey.

As quick as he is, as fast as this body allows him to be, it still all happens too rapidly to react.

The man stops mid-step. He shifts, body turning, eyes locking onto Lance’s— The flash of purple from deep within those inky indigo eyes— The burst of smoke, tendrils dark and gray and swirling in his vision— A heavy weight hitting his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and throwing his momentum sharply backwards—

He hits the ground hard, neck cracking backwards and temporarily causing sparks in his vision. Man, if he was still human, that would be really fucking rough. As it stands, however, he's not, and the sharp pain fades quickly.

As his vision clears, he finds himself flat on his back. The shadows of trees rise all around him, but the glimpses of the night sky between their branches is completely covered by the large wolf staring down at him.

Paws on his shoulders, pinning him heavily. Face close enough that Lance can feel the hot breath against his skin. Bright yellow eyes that seem to glow in the night, wide and sharp and unblinking. Intelligent and calculating.

A shiver runs through him, momentary fear that feels more like instinct before it fizzles out in the wake of familiarity. Settles into his gut with the heaviness of disappointment.

Still, a smirk touches his lips. Tugging up the corners. "Hey, buddy."

And just like that, the tension snaps. Breaks and dissolves as the giant creature's tail wags slowly behind him. Then he drops, entire weight settling on top of Lance.

"Oooh, man—" He wheezes as the air rushes from his lungs. "I forgot how heavy you are." He lifts his arms as much as he can, running his hands through the thick fur that he can reach. Digs in and tries to push the creature away. Unfortunately, he doesn't budge. "Keith, buddy, my man, call off your wolf."

Soft footsteps. Deliberately slow. Keith slides into his vision above the wolf. Hair blending into the shadows. Slivers of moonlight reaching through the trees to illuminate the sharp curves of his features, lighting pale skin. Eyes still flecked with violet that sparks in the darkness.

In the touch of silver light, Lance can see the small quirk to his pale lips as he hums, soft and devastatingly deep. "I think he's fine where he is."

"Keith—" He feels his heart lurch as Keith squats down next to him. One hand on his wolf's head, scratching behind his ear. His eyes, however, remain fixed on Lance, and he had really hoped that the whole dry-mouth-lump-in-the-throat-heart-skipping-a-beat thing would've stopped happening when he turned, but here he is. Vampiric and still the flustered mess he was when he was human. "Buddy, I can't breathe—"

"You don't have to breathe," He says, that ghost of a smile still fixed and the whisper of amusement in his voice.

It sends chills down his spine.

Lance huffs as much as he can when there's a large wolf crushing his chest. "That doesn't mean it's not uncomfortable."

"You'll survive." He pats his wolf one last time before pushing to his feet. "Better luck next time, Lance."

"I'll get you one day, Keithy boy." He calls out as Keith walks away, disappearing from his vision and continuing down the path. "Just you wait."

"I look forward to watching you try." Comes the reply. The fading footsteps. Fainter— Fainter— Gone.

Lance sighs, letting his body relax into the dirt. He's pretty sure there's a rock digging into his spine. The wolf has gotten comfortable. Still heavy as ever and as immovable as stone. He swears Keith puts some kind of charm on the creature to make him that way. To use him as a weight to keep Lance down. There's no way this is natural. Not with the inherent strength Lance possesses.

The wolf licks his face, and while he does wince, he can't hold back his smile. "At least you like me, right, bud?" He manages to shift his arms out far enough to better pet him, to run his hands through the thick fur on his back and flanks. To scratch behind his ears. "I'll get him one of these days." He says into the night, quiet and wistful. "I'll get him."

Not just his blood, as sinful and painfully tantalizing as it is.

But him. All of him.

Body, heart, and soul.

And judging from those small, fleeting smiles, so slight that he's certain Keith isn't even aware they've slipped through, Lance thinks he has a chance.

* * *

Keith's cabin is nestled into a nice little clearing about halfway up the mountain. A twisting, winding dirt road leads up to it, with no houses or abandoned creepy churches along the way. Just complete solitude. The drive is long enough and eerie enough that Lance is certain that anyone who's decides on a whim to see what's on the other end of it give up about halfway through.

It helps that there's a memory charm hanging above the road from an overhanging tree that makes people forget why they were headed in that direction to begin with.

Thankfully, Lance never takes the road. It's easier to run anyway. Easier to sprint through the forest at a speed that he'll never get tired of. Feet barely touching the ground. Reaction times quick enough to keep him from hitting anything. Instinctual. Inherent. Just another part of who he is now.

At a full sprint, uninhibited and wild, he can get to Keith's cabin from the coven house in about an hour. Give or take. And that's while taking the long way around to avoid going through town.

Thankfully, most of the trip is through trees, and they provide a comforting canopy that keeps the last light of day away from his sensitive skin. Lets him leave a little earlier than he might otherwise. In fact, he usually leaves before most of the coven has even risen. Snatches one of the blood bags from the fridge and slips out the door while the others are still shuffling around and yawning.

No one questions where he goes.

He thinks they know anyway.

He arrives when sunset still has the sky painted in pink fire. When the light is orange and aglow, setting the world in sepia tones.

He steps out into the clearing, hands in his pockets as he leisurely strolls across the grass. It's wild and unkept, rising halfway up his shins. Thankfully, the trees cast shadows that stretch across the open space, but the light still hurts his eyes. A little too bright. And there's a faint itch on the exposed skin of his forearms and neck.

He doesn't mind. It's the closest he can get to the sun, and he misses the daylight.

He doesn't try to be subtle about it, but his steps are quiet nonetheless. Keith doesn't seem to notice his approach, but then again, he rarely shows it when he does. Lance never knows until he actually announces himself.

Right now he's perched on the roof of his cabin. Knelt down on the shingles. Black cargo pants that hug his waist. A tool belt hanging low. Tight white tank top that's soaking in his sweat. Sweat that glistens on his skin. Making those well defined arms shine as the muscles beneath his skin flex and shift.

Thank fuck for his enhanced eyesight, honestly. Lets him appreciate the sight the entire walk across the clearing.

Lets him take in that messy hair, loose now but pushed back from his forehead with a headband. Sticking to his neck and jaw. Brows furrowed as he works. Lips pursed just slightly.

Lance doesn't know what he's doing, but it's clear that he's been at it for a while. With a huff, he stands, rolling his shoulders as he slips his hammer into the tool belt. Lance's gaze fixes on the roll of his shoulder blades. On the muscles in his back. Then Keith lifts the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, and he gets this great view of his trim waist and the dimples of his lower back, but what he wouldn't give to see—

He lets out a whistle, playful and loud, just to get his attention, and—

There it is. Keith turns before dropping his shirt, and Lance gets a nice fucking view of those abs before it falls back into place.

He really wishes being a vamp meant his heartbeat couldn't go a mile a minute. Thought at first that _turning_ meant the whole _undead_ thing. But it’s a little more complicated. Not dead, just another state of existence. A rebirth. And his heart? Yeah, that thing’s still alive and kicking. Still giving Lance hell.

He doesn't try to hide his appreciative gaze, though he's not sure Keith can tell from this distance. As far as he knows, he only has human sight.

With the shirt back in place, Lance lifts his gaze to Keith's face. Noting the raised brow. Not quite surprised, but not quite expecting. It's the most he gets. He's pretty sure Keith has ways of knowing whenever anyone steps foot on his mountain, and Lance is no exception.

So expecting him, yes. Maybe this soon? Not so much.

Lips pursed just slightly, brows pinched as if in thought, his gaze lifts from Lance to the western sky. "It's not dark yet."

Lance shrugs. "Doesn't need it to be," He says, loud enough for Keith to hear. "As long as I'm out of direct sunlight, it's fine."

Keith turns back to him, small frown on his lips. "Shiro doesn't rise until full dark."

Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes as he continues forward. "That's because Shiro's old as hell."

That gets a smirk out of him. The tugging at the corners of his lips that he can't quite stop. Lance grins, pleased with himself. Unfortunately, that passes pretty damn quickly.

Because two steps later, he smacks right into what feels like a goddamn _wall_.

He stumbles back, eyes going wide as his smile fades. "What the fuck," He mumbles, cautiously stepping forward again. Eyes darting from side to side, but even with his sight, he sees nothing. Reaching out slowly, his fingers stop when they reach that _wall_ again.

It's invisible, and after a few experimental pushes, he determines that it's not a wall. Not really. But it _is_ a barrier of some sort. He can push into it a little, but it takes all his strength and there's a hell of a lot of resistance. He only gets a few inches before he's pushed back.

One hand flat on the barrier, feeling the strange and foreign tremor of energy beneath his palm, his eyes snap back to the roof. Narrowing on Keith, who's smirk has widened. Eyes dancing with mirth.

"Keith, what the hell?"

"Like it?" He asks, voice lilting with amusement.

"No," He says, lifting his other hand to the barrier. Rapping his knuckles on it a few times. It's surprisingly silent. "What _is_ it?"

"A barrier," He says simply, moving to sit on the edge of the roof. His legs dangling off the edge. His hands behind him, he leans back. Allowing his smile to widen. The last light from the western sky shines gold on the lift of his cheeks, and if Lance's stomach does a little flip at that, it's not his fault, alright? "To keep pesky vampires away from my house."

"You like my visits." Lance is well aware that he's pouting as he steps back, shoving his hands back in his pockets. He tears his eyes away from the boy who's too damn pretty for his own good. From where his tank top clings to his chest as he stretches out.

"I never said that."

"You don't need to," He quips, turning to walk cautiously to the side. He lifts a hand again, trailing fingertips lightly along the barrier. Feels out the curved edge of it. Eyes on the ground, it doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for. A wooden stake stabbed into the earth. "I know you enjoy my presence."

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Amusement in his voice. A dash of curiosity. Perhaps, he thinks, a bit of a disgruntled pout?

Lance squats down on the balls of his feet, forearms resting on his knees as he tilts his head. The stake is thin and flat on two sides, leaving a better surface for the runes that are carved into it. He can't read them, but they run vertically down to where the stake disappears into the ground. Curiously, he reaches for it, but the barrier stops him from being able to touch it.

Figures he can't just pull it out. But it was worth a shot anyway. Glancing to the side, he can see several more runesticks. all sticking out of the ground periodically in a circle that encloses Keith's cabin.

He sighs, pushing himself back to his feet. "If you really didn't want me here, you would put up wards to keep vampires off the mountain."

When he looks up, Keith is frowning again. "I can't do that without keeping Shiro out, too."

Lance lifts a brow, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. He can't help the small smile that curves his lips. The disappointment at not being able to get closer is short lived when Keith is at least talking to him. "Are you trying to tell me you _can't_ make a ward that targets a specific person? Come on, Keith. I know I'm new around here, but even I know you're far more powerful than that."

And really, _bless_ his enhanced vision for allowing him to see the light flush across Keith's cheeks despite the darkening horizon.

Keith huffs, blowing at a wayward strand of hair that's fallen from his headband. He pulls out his phone, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he holds it between his hands.

"Where's your wolf, anyway?" Lance asks after a moment of silence, glancing around the clearing. He can't hear his familiar steps or smell anything but a lingering scent.

Keith shrugs, eyes still on his phone. "I don't know. Hunting, probably."

"You don't keep tabs on him?"

"I don't need to. He'll come if I need him, but otherwise he's free to do whatever."

Lance glances back to where Keith is perched, eyes narrowing and smile fading as he sees— Keith is typing? Is he texting? He never texts _anyone_ except for maybe—

"What're you doing?" He asks, sharp and uncertain.

Keith glances up, surprised at first before his expression lapses back into something smug. Something mischievous. Something that makes Lance's toes curl as heat licks through his veins.

"Telling Shiro to collect his vampling."

Lance scoffs. A lopsided tilt of his lips. "Shiro isn't my sire."

A perplexed pinch of his brow. "He's... not?"

Lance waves a hand, turning to let his gaze trail along the tree line. "Nah. I'm staying with him, but he's not my sire."

"Then who is?"

Lance tilts his head. Letting his eyes lazily swing back. Lets a self satisfied smile curl his lips. "What's that? Is the great, mysterious Keith Kogane curious about little ol' me?"

Keith frowns, but it looks suspiciously like a pout. He turns, pulling his feet back onto the roof to stand. "Get off my mountain, Lance."

"I'll tell you, you know." He says, looking pointedly at the runesticks before flashing him a wide grin. "If you let me in."

Keith takes a moment to look at him then. Regard him calmly. Perhaps even curiously. The fire as seeped out of the sky, and the shadows stretch across the cabin. But there's just enough light left to highlight his eyes. For Lance to see the struggle in them.

Then he sighs, turning to walk back across the roof. "Maybe next time."

Lance straightens, breath rushing from his lungs. "Next time?"

Keith glances over his shoulder. A small, wicked smile on his lips. "I assume you're persistent enough to come back?"

Lance laughs. Feels it bubble out of his chest. Dark and deep and rumbling. "You bet that sweet ass I am."

Keith scoffs, sound suspiciously like a laugh of his own before he disappears over the other side of the roof. Before Lance hears the sound of footsteps on a ladder.

And then the phone in Lance's pocket is vibrating. He pulls it out, answering and pressing it to his ear without bothering to look at the screen. "What's up, daddio?"

The sigh on the other end sounds one part amused and two parts exasperated. _”I told you not to call me that."_

"Mmm, don't remember." He's already turned on his heel, striding back toward the forest.

_”Keith texted me."_

"Did he now? What'd he say?"

_”He said, and I quote, come collect your wayward vamp and tighten his leash. I'm busy, and I don't want him running around my mountain."_

"So what's the occasion? You usually ignore him when he tries to get rid of me. Something about forced socialization being good for him."

_”Normally I would, but you have some visitors. Someone named Hunk?"_

"Hunk's here?" Lance picks up the pace, already sprinting through the trees.

_”Yes, and while things are peaceful, the coven is uneasy with his presence."_

"Oh, please. This isn't eighteen-forty. Werewolves are chill. Especially Hunk."

_”Be that as it may, I would appreciate you returning home quickly."_

"Already on my way."

* * *

Lance is, at his heart, a romantic. Always has been, and now, forty-one years past his rebirth, he still is.

He's just glad that core pieces of him haven't changed. Hopes they never will.

Breaking past the barrier turns out to be incredibly easy. Easy enough that he knows Keith wasn't really serious about it to begin with. He knows that if he _was_, then there's no way in hell throwing a rock to knock over one of the runesticks would diffuse the whole thing.

That's enough of an invitation if he's ever seen one.

He doesn't stay long. Doesn't have much to do anyway. Keith isn't home, but he knows that. Had counted on it. Heard Shiro offhandedly mention earlier that Keith was stopping by for his usual visit.

Where he shows up every couple months, positively reeking of something dark and raw and tantalizingly addictive, looking like death warmed over. Hangs out with Shiro privately for about an hour. And then leaves smelling brighter. Lighter. Less addictingly sinful, but somehow that just makes his natural scent shine through all the more.

It's weird, but neither of them will talk about it. Keith refuses to answer his questions, and Shiro says they're not his answers to give.

So as frustratingly confounding as that particular mystery is, at least Lance can take advantage of the time that Keith is away.

Takes advantage of it by knocking over a runestick from afar and cautiously testing the barrier. Once he's certain he won't get electrocuted or burst into flames, he makes his way to the front porch of Keith's cabin.

Leaves a bouquet of a dozen roses and a box of chocolates that he made himself, courtesy of Hunk's careful tutelage. Right on the porch, propped up against the front door. Because he's a hopeless damn romantic.

Then he leaves.

Sort of.

He hangs out in the trees around the clearing. Waits and plays around on his phone until he hears the familiar rumble of Keith's bike making its way far too quickly up the dirt road. Watches with baited breath, sunken into the shadows, as he makes his way to the front door.

As he freezes on the first step. Slowly walks the rest of the way. Picks up the roses with surprising gentleness, and, after a moment of hesitation, leans down to bury his nose in them. As he slowly picks up the box and looks it over before taking a step back and turning around.

His gaze sweeps across the clearing, but doesn't stop where Lance hides. Instead it stops as he fixates on the fallen runestick.

And fucking _bless_ his enhanced vision.

It lets him see the smile that curls Keith's lips, uninhibited and endearingly shy, as he turns and slips through the front door.

* * *

Lance finds him further up the mountain. On a ledge that overlooks a dramatic drop and has a good view of the sloping mountainscape below. In the distance, the lights from the town twinkle and shine. But here, it's dark.

With the cloudless sky, far from the city lights, the night sky is alive with stars. A blanket of glimmering lights as vast and deep as an ocean, mesmerizing and peaceful.

But Lance can't look away from the sight in front of him.

Keith, sitting near the cliff's edge. Legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. Back straight and shoulders relaxed. Chin tilted up and eyes closed, lashes long and dark against his cheeks.

Bathed in the silver light of the full moon.

There are a few items in front of him. A bowl. A small drawstring bag. Scattered runestones and a few crystals. Lance doesn't know. He can't see them clearly from where he stands, and even if he could, none of it is as interesting as Keith himself.

Because he's beautiful.

He's mesmerizing.

The biting autumn wind stirs his hair, tugs at his jacket, but he remains still as stone. Pale and pristine.

Lance had arrived at Keith's cabin later than he usually visits, having spent the twilight hours helping Hunk and Shay settle into their chosen place to turn. Several mountains over and far from any human homes. Keith hadn't been home, but his scent was recent.

He followed it into the woods. Up the mountain. Had found him sitting here on this cliff, unmoving and still.

Peaceful.

Tranquil.

Lost in whatever he's doing.

Lance hovers at the tree line, simply watching him, and with every passing second, he feels more and more like he's intruding. Especially when Keith lets out a long breath and begins to busy himself with the items in front of him. Lance can hear him mumbling under his breath, but he doesn't understand the words.

There's a power to them, though.

He feels it in the air. An electric current that buzzes across his skin, making his hair stand on end.

But still he doesn't move. He feels like he can't intrude, but he also can't bring himself to look away.

Keith looks so... at ease. At peace. Features soft and tranquil. But he also looks confident. Powerful. He's in his element, and Lance is lost in the moonlight on his skin and the fluidity of his practiced motions.

He stands still. Breath caught in his throat. He doesn't need it, and he fears it might disturb the air.

Keith doesn't look at him, but he doesn't doubt he knows he's there. Especially when there's sudden movement at his side. A brush of a wet nose against his hand. He jumps, but there's no air currently in his lungs to scream.

The wolf. Keith's familiar. He gazes up at Lance and locks him in with startlingly intelligent golden eyes. But there's no hostility. No malice. After a moment, the wolf turns. Sits next to Lance and keeps a watchful eye on his master.

After a moment, Lance sits next to him. Lowering himself silently to the ground. They sit there, long into the night. As the moon passes by overhead. Watching Keith move through his rituals. Listening to the low rumble of his voice. Lance idly and absently runs his fingers through the wolf's fur, and the beast lies down. Curls around him and allows Lance to lean back into his side while he puts his head in Lance's lap.

He knows that Keith knows he's there, yet he makes no move to tell him to leave. His familiar keeps Lance company as they content themselves to watch, feeling a subtle magic vibrate through the air around them.

That, in and of itself, is permission to stay.

* * *

Lance can smell him on the wind. That smokey, spicy sweet scent. But it's the bounding sound of heavy paws on earth that really alerts him to their return.

He glances up, gazing across the clearing to where the two emerge from the trees. The wolf is already sprinting. Large body pounding darting across the grass. And then, all at once and in a puff of smoke, he's gone mid-stride.

Only for a similar puff of smoke to burst into existence right in front of him, a heavy body emerging from it to knock him to the ground. Paws on his chest and a wet tongue dragging up his cheek. He laughs, fingers digging into the wolf's fur and pushing his head away. "Hey, _hey_, buddy, I missed you, too."

"What're you doing?"

Lance manages to push the wolf off of him and sit up. The wolf merely sits next to him, golden eyes on him as his tail wags back and forth lazily. Lance scratches behind his ears as he lounges in the dirt. Keith stands on the other side of the garden's little half fence, brows pinched and frown touched lips.

Lance shrugs. Aims for nonchalance when his heart hammers and his smile feels sheepish. "Gardening?"

"In... my garden."

"Yes?"

"Why?"

Lance turns then, gesturing with his free hand to the plants still resting in temporary pots. "Well, they're not going to plant themselves. So I figured I'd help?"

Keith's frown stays fixed in place. Merely confused. Lance will gladly take that over upset. "I don't... why?"

He pushes himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants and deciding to take some mercy on the poor guy. "I noticed your garden keeps going even when it's been getting cold at night, so I figured you had some kinda greenhouse charms going on." His suspicion had been proven correct when he'd taken a closer look. Noticed the runesticks that were used periodically as part of the fence and the talismans that dangle from posts stick in the dirt.

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders rising. "So?"

"Soooo..." Lance lets his eyes drift to the plants and the holes he's dug in Keith's garden without his permission. Wondering for the first time if perhaps this was a bad idea. "The other week you were talking about some stuff you wanted for your garden, but they don't really sell it around here, and you didn't have time to go look for it, so I just... decided to surprise you?"

He gets a blank stare, and Lance squirms.

He spreads his arms out , aiming for a confident smile that he's sure falls short. "Surprise?"

Keith's brow lifts slowly, eyes carefully blank. "So you decided to sneak into my garden while I was gone and plant things. Without my permission. Without knowing where I might want them. And without knowing if that might upset whatever magic balance I have here."

Lance's arms fall, lips pursing into a pout as his shoulder sag. He toes at the dirt beneath his feet, eyes wandering away from him. "Well, when you put it like _that_, it sounds a lot less romantic..."

"Do you even know what plants should and shouldn't be near each other?"

Lance looks up at that, narrowed eyes sharp even if his pout remains. "_Yes_, I'm not completely hopeless, okay? I asked my friend Shay to help me plan this out. She knows a lot more than I do. Her grandmother is a druid.“

Keith hums, looking him up and down before his gaze drifts to the garden. Critical and sharp as he looks over the newly planted things and those that've yet to leave their temporary pots. Slowly, mesmerizingly, his features soften. Lance watches it all in the dim glow from the cabin's porch light.

"You... put a lot of thought into this, didn't you?" He asks, voice low. There's a vulnerability there that Lance isn't sure he's ever heard.

It makes his heart rate spike. He shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. "I, uh... yeah, I did. If it's too much, though, I can go? I didn't meant to fuck up your garden or anything."

"It's fine," He says a little too quickly. Lance watches, transfixed, as his throat flexes while he swallows. He lifts his chin. "You can continue."

Despite the sharpness of his words, Lance finds himself smiling. "Okay."

He gets back to work. Kneels in the dirt and continues to dig. Carefully pulling the plants from their pots, breaking up their roots just as Shay taught him to do before placing them in their new homes. Herbs and flowers, mostly. He doesn't know what Keith needs them for, but he has no doubt that they're for spells or rituals. He has a vegetable garden next to this one, but it's far neater and a lot less overgrown and wild.

He's rarely seen Keith garden himself. He's seen him come out here and wade through the rows and tangles of greenery, touching his plants with a gentle reverence as he clips bits and pieces from them. But he's never seen Keith actually garden. Get on his knees in the dirt and tirelessly toil over the plants he loves so much.

He has a suspicion that it's a daytime activity.

He bets Keith looks beautiful in the sunlight.

The wolf keeps him company as he works. Lying in the dirt nearby and watching him with interested eyes. Keith has long since disappeared into his cabin, to drop off his bag and do whatever else he needs to do. Lance doesn't mind. The night is peaceful, and the mere fact that Keith is letting him do this leaves a warmth bubbling in his chest. Along with the memory of Keith's small, gentle smile.

A light flicks on, casting the garden and the surrounding area in a wash of light.

Lance winces for a moment at the sudden brightness, pausing to glance over his shoulder as Keith steps back out of the cabin, two mugs in hand. He freezes for a moment, glancing from Lance to the light. "Oh, uh... sorry."

Lance shakes his head, giving him a small smile. "It's fine. Just startled me."

Keith nods, coming to sit on the edge of his porch. Feet dangling off the edge. He lifts one mug higher than the other, holding it out in Lance's direction. "I got you, um... I didn't know if you were thirsty or not?"

He looks shy. Uncertain. It's a far cry from the Keith he's come to know. He stares down at the other mug, held closer to his chest. A slight pinch to his brows and the dusting of color across his cheeks.

Lance tilts his chin, lifting his nose to sniff the air. He smells the chaotic aroma of the herbs and flowers around him. The richness of freshly toiled earth. The musty scent of the wolf's fur. The smokey spice of Keith's own scent beneath the chemical bite of his deodorant and the softer edge of his shampoo. He smells the warm bitterness of tea, and the familiar salty-sweet aroma of—

He blinks, already standing and pulling off his gloves. He carefully makes his way across the garden, holding the gate aside for the wolf to follow after him before making his way to the porch.

He sits next to Keith, who wordlessly passes him the mug. Keith's eyes remain on the wolf as he slinks up the porch, lying next to him and resting his large head in Keith's lap.

The mug is warm. Not too hot, and not at all cold. Perfect. The scent of blood is strong, alluring and familiar. Making his mouth water. He lifts the mug to his lips, eyes slipping closed as the blood rushes across his tongue. It's salty and sweet, with that metallic edge that he's come to enjoy.

Truthfully, it's fairly bland. Nothing particularly interesting about it. It has nothing on Keith's own smokey sweet scent. But it hits the spot nonetheless. Quenches a thirst that's always present. Leaves endorphins to rush through his body, warming him from the inside out and settling a crawling anxiety that he never notices until he finally drinks.

It puts him at ease when he hadn't even been aware that he'd been tense.

Cradling the mug to his chest, he smiles. "Thank you."

Keith shrugs, eyes still on his familiar as he idly runs his fingers through his fur. "I usually keep a few blood pouches in the fridge in case Shiro comes by. He usually likes it warmed, so I thought you might, too?"

"Definitely. It's always better warmed, but I usually just grab a pack from the fridge at the coven house and go. It's not as good cold, but it gets the job done. And it's easier."

Keith hums. It's noncommittal. A mere acknowledgement. But when Lance risks a glance, he finds that he's smiling. Secret and small. Eyes still on his familiar...

"What's his name?"

Keith glances up, one brow raised, and Lance nods toward the wolf. Gazing innocently up at the both of them. "Oh." Keith rests a hand on the wolf's head, thumb gently rubbing his brows. "He doesn't have one yet."

"... What?"

"What?"

"He doesn't have a _name?_"

"No?"

"Why not?"

Keith shrugs, shifting his weight as he glances away. "He hasn't told me yet."

"He... hasn't told you yet?" Lance repeats, voice flat as he stares. Keith's lips purse, and Lance lets an incredulous chuckle escape him. "Keith, buddy, I don't think that's how animals work."

Keith's glare is sharp, but his pout ruins the effect. "He'll tell me when he's ready."

"How long have you had him?" Keith doesn't answer, which only prompts Lance's smile to grow. "Maybe he's waiting for _you_." Keith shakes his head, but Lance turns his attention to the wolf, reaching out over Keith's lap to cup his jaw, scratching behind his ear. The beast leans into the touch. "How about it, boy? You want a name?"

The wolf blinks, eyes locked onto Lance's. There's an intelligence there. One that he had once found unnerving, but now finds a strange comfort in. He looks... patient. Waiting.

"How about... Cosmo."

Keith blinks. Frowns. "No." Looks down at his familiar. "Why?"

Lance shrugs. "Because the patterns in his fur remind me of the Milky Way. The cosmos, you know?" The wolf lifts his head, eyes still locked on Lance. He grins. "Look! I think he likes it."

"I'm not calling him Cosmo," Keith says, stubbornly defiant. But it dissolves into a defeated pout when Cosmo turns to lick his cheek.

"Well, I definitely am. Right, Cosmo?"

He gets nothing but a stare, but that's fine.

They sit in companionable silence, both of them sipping their drinks. Feeling bold and with a contented warmth seeping through him, Lance puts a hand behind Keith, leaning back and into his side. While he stiffens, he doesn't move away, and after a moment, he relaxes. Leans a little into Lance, too.

"So is this where you've been?" Keith asks, gesturing to the garden with his mug. "You haven't been around for a while."

"Aw, did you miss me?" Lance grins, turning his head to find Keith glaring at him. He merely chuckles and lets his gaze return to the garden. "Sort of. I've been helping my buddy Hunk and his mate Shay settle into their new home nearby. They claimed one of the mountains across town from here." At Keith's curious stare, Lance elaborates. "Werewolves."

Keith sighs, sinking deeper into Lance's side. "Great. First vampires, and now werewolves."

"They're the best, and you're going to love having them as mountain neighbors. Hunk's been my buddy for _years_. Helped me get through a lot of... _this_," He says, gesturing vaguely with his mug. "He and his mate, Shay, have been wanting to start a pack of their own for a while now, and when I moved up here, I told them that there's a lot of unclaimed territory, so _ta-da!_ They're here now. They're really great people. I was helping Shay find stuff for her garden, and she helped me find the things you wanted."

"Thank you."

He glances at Keith, blinking in his surprise. But Keith's eyes are still on the garden. Lit by the floodlight attached to his roof. Cradling his tea to his chest, other hand absently petting Cosmo. He leans over, then. Rests his head hesitantly and gingerly on Lance's shoulder.

"For... the plants, and stuff."

Lance tilts his head. Rests his cheek atop Keith's mop of hair. Breathes in his strange and alluring scent. Lets himself appreciate how soft his hair is. How warm and firm his body is pressed up against him. "Are you falling for me yet?"

Keith hums, a smile in his voice. "Don't get ahead of yourself, vampling."

"One of these days, witch boy. One of these days."

* * *

He knows something is wrong long before he arrives. He can smell it on the wind. A bite. A smokey atmosphere that curls and coils. Not visibly. Just in the scent. There's a tension in the air. A buzzing of energy that crawls and creeps across his skin. Making his hair stand on end and nipping at his nerve endings.

His instincts scream at him to run.

He doesn't. He grits his teeth and continues on. Pushes his pace faster, heart hammering in his chest and catching painfully on his ribs. Because this is Keith's mountain, and the further he goes, the more thick the sludge-like energy in the air becomes.

It's... _wrong_.

Leaves a sour after taste on his tongue and this subtle burn in his lungs.

He finds Keith not far from his home. In a small clearing not far from his cabin. An axe in hand, hovering over a chopping block. There's wood all around him. A felled tree. And it's obvious that he's preparing firewood.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get to admire the tight pants he wears and the way they cup his ass just right. Nor does he gets to admire the shifting curl of the muscles of his back and arms as he swings the axe. Nor the messy bun his hair is pulled into. Nor the way his black tank top shows off pale arms and a lean back. Nor the way the red flannel tied around his waist, combined with his rough worn boots, makes him look every bit like the mountain witch he is.

He doesn't get to admire any of it, save for fleeting observations, because he's too focused on the way Keith's posture sages. The strain in his neck. The wrinkle of his brow and the purse of his lips. The way his breath sounds far too ragged and far too raspy to Lance's sensitive ears. He can hear Keith's heartbeat, quick and fluttering and not the strong, steady beat he's grown used to.

Lance steps silently out of the trees, pausing where Cosmo sits nearby. His ears twitch at Lance's arrival, tail swishing once or twice, but his golden eyes remain fixed on Keith.

He dares to say that the wolf looks worried, too.

Without a word, Lance steps forward. Quick, long strides that carry him swiftly across the clearing. Perhaps a little too fast. Perhaps a little too vampy because Keith startles when Lance is suddenly there, hand a gentle but firm vice around his wrist as he pulls back the axe.

Holding his eyes, Lance knows something is definitely wrong. He can see a pain in the depths of those indigo irises. A strain that curls around them. This close, Lance can tell the difference in his scent. The smokiness he's so fond of no longer holds the comfort of a campfire, but rather the sour edge of sulphur. It masks the sweetness and the spice that usually persist beneath it all. Leaving nothing but bitterness lingering at the back of his throat.

Lance's hands are gentle as he takes the axe from Keith. And Keith, surprisingly, lets it go with little resistance. Hands falling and shoulders slumping with exhaustion and defeat. Lance already knew something was wrong, but that solidifies that twisting shiver of dread in his gut.

A hand on Keith's back, he guides him silently to where Cosmo waits, gently pushing him down to the ground to sit and rest.

Then he returns to the chopping block. Picks up where Keith left off. Chops the felled logs into more manageable pieces fit for Keith's wood stove. To keep him warm through the cool autumn nights and the approaching winter. With his inhuman strength and precise aim, the work is easy. Effortless, really. Still, it feels good to do. Feels good to be active. To swing and chop and feel the brief resistance before the split. To know he's doing this for Keith. Taking care of Keith.

Taking off his shirt is entirely unnecessary. The late evening air is cool, bordering on crisply cold the longer the sun is gone. And as a vampire, he doesn't work up a sweat.

Still, he tells himself that it's merely to keep his shirt from getting ripped or dirty. That it's easier to swing the axe without the cloth stretching at his shoulders and arms. Shies away from the truth that it's purely to show off.

Keith says nothing about it, but when he risks a glance behind him, if only to make sure Keith is still alright when his senses are screaming at him that he shouldn't be, he finds Keith smiling. It's a small smile. One that doesn't chase away the pain in his eyes or the tension in his body. His skin is far too pale and pallid, but there's a light dusting of color across his cheeks.

When Lance catches him staring, he smirks, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Fully smug and self-satisfied. Keith merely frowns, leaning into his familiar and silently flipping Lance off.

Lance laughs and gets back to work. Comforted by the fact that while Keith may not be alright, at least he's still Keith.

* * *

Lance knows the moment Keith crashes into the coven house. He feels the instant shift in the air and the brewing tension radiating from him. It only takes a moment more for his familiar scent, twisted and sulphuric, to seep into the air.

And he's already running. Sprinting through the halls toward the source of the disturbance. Following not only his scent but the urgent feeling in his gut.

He gets there in seconds. Finds Keith in the hallway outside of Shiro's study, half propped up against the wall and half sagging against Cosmo. The giant wolf leans heavily into his side, body on edge and eyes sharp. The misty smoke of Cosmo's usual arrival is still dissipating, which tells Lance two things.

One, that whatever is happening, it's urgent enough that Keith teleported in with his familiar.

And two, that he got here a lot quicker than he realized.

Keith lifts his head and blinks at him, eyes dazed and unfocused. He's far too pale. Sickly so. Dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. His lips are colorless, and a thin layer of sweat shines on his skin. His hair's a mess, his clothes are haphazard, and he can barely stand. Body shaking uncontrollably.

"Keith—"

"Shiro..." He chokes out, voice cracking and hoarse. He licks his lips, breath shuddering in his lungs. It's a painful sound to hear and has Lance's chest lurching. "W-where's— Shiro?"

He moves to take a step, and Lance sees his stumble before it really happens. He shifts forward instantly. A blur of motion before he's in front of Keith, catching him in his arms and lifting most of his weight from Cosmo. Keith doesn't fight his hold. Just sags into his chest, arms trying to hold himself up, but they shake as much as his legs.

"He's not here. He won't be back for a few more days." Lance says, arms wrapping around his back and his waist.

He tries to get a good look at Keith's face, but he drops his forehead to Lance's shoulder, hissing out a breath between clenched teeth. "_Shit_."

"Keith, what's going on?" Urgency creeping into his voice, despite his attempt to stay calm.

"I thought he'd be back by now," Keith bites out, words clipped and voice strained. His fist curls into the back of Lance's shirt. "I need— I need—"

Cosmo growls. Low and rumbling and far more hostile than Lance has heard from him since they first met all those months ago. He lifts his head, eyes snapping to Cosmo and following the wolf's gaze to the others starting to gather. Other vampires. Members of the coven. Drawn by the strange aura radiating from Keith and the noxious smell emanating from him.

They don't look hostile, merely curious, but Cosmo growls at them all the same. Shifting closer to bodily block Lance and Keith.

Lance narrows his eyes at them, eyes glowing as he jerks his chin sharply. "_Go_." He says, voice deep and clipped and a mimicry of the commanding voice Shiro uses with them when he needs to.

Despite being centuries younger than some of them, they all obey. Disappearing in a blur of movement and leaving them once alone in the hallway. He doesn't have time to dwell on how cool it feels to be in charge because Keith's breath is shallow and rasping against his collarbones.

He scoops Keith into his arms in a fluid motion, far too quick for him to protest. Not that he will. His eyes are squeezed shut as he rests his head on Lance's shoulder. Brows furrowed and lips parted as he pants. His body shivers as he curls in Lance's hold.

Cosmo runs at his heels as he sprints to his room, and he holds the door open long enough for the wolf to follow him in before kicking it shut.

He wonders if his own room was a bad decision, but at the moment, he can't think of a better place. Something is wrong, and Keith is clearly in pain, and Lance wants— no, he _needs_ to keep him safe. His instincts tell him that his own space is safest. Away from prying eyes. Surrounded by his own scent. His own things. The best place to keep Keith safe. Keep him comfortable.

He gently lays Keith on his bed, and he sinks into the plush blankets and soft mattress. It's a large bed. Lavish and expensive because he values comfort. The windows are covered with thick black curtains, blocking out even the moonlight, so he reaches to the bedside table, flicking on a lamp to cast the room in a warm, golden glow.

It does little to make Keith look less sickly.

He shivers on the bed, fists clenched and body writing. He smells... well, _terrible_. The smoky scent has twisted into something sulphuric and sour. The spiciness burns, and the sugary sweet baseline of his blood has turned rotten.

"Keith," He says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and reaching out to push the hair from his forehead. His skin is clammy and cold, sticky with sweat. His voice is low and gentle, even as he says, "You smell like death."

It's a joke, mostly. Trying to lighten the mood when panic is making his chest tight and heart ache. What he doesn't expect is for Keith's eyes to open. Irises dark with pain, even as they crinkle at the edges with the ghost of a smile. He coughs, and it rattles and rasps through his lungs, but his voice still manages to sound dryly amused as he says, "That's probably because I'm dying."

Lance blinks. Frowns. Hand stilling at Keith's temple. "That's not funny."

"I'm serious," He breathes, lifting a hand to cover Lance's. It shakes, but is surprisingly firm. His eyes lock onto Lance's, unflinching, stubbornly defiant. Lance couldn’t look away if he tried. Doesn't want to. Breath in his lungs stilling at the intensity of Keith's stare. "I need you to bite me."

He blinks, mouth going dry and lump forming in his throat, choking him. "_What?_"

Keith's grip tightens around his hand, nails biting into his skin. There's a fire in his eyes, desperate and consuming. "I need you to bite me. Drink my blood." His jaw clenches as another wave of pain wracks through him, body tensing as it convulses. His eyes, however, never leave Lance's. "Please," He whispers, voice cracking on his lips. "Shiro isn't here to do it. Please. It won't hurt you."

That... isn't what has Lance gaping. Hadn't even crossed his mind. He's more caught up on the whole _Keith begging him to bite him_ thing. Which is, admittedly, something that's been on Lance's mind for a long, long time. Something he's fantasized about and dreamed about.

He never thought it would be like this, though. Never like this.

Still, whether whatever is poising Keith hurts him or not, Lance doesn't really care. If his bite can relieve Keith of this pain, he's going to do it. He'll resign himself to his own fate later.

Keith must see the decision in his eyes, because before Lance has a chance to say anything, he's struggling to sit up. Lance wraps an arm around his back instantly, helping him up. Settling further onto the bed as he pulls Keith into his lap. Lets his legs stretch out across him as he cradles Keith to his chest.

One hand dips into his hair, fingers carding through tangles and greasy strands in an attempt to soothe. HIs other arm wraps around him. Holding him tight.

Keith drops his head onto Lance's shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Pale lips parted. Chest heaving with rattling breaths.

Breaths that hitch as Lance leans down. Breath that still as Lance's lips press to the delicate skin of his neck. He kisses him. Softly and gently. Tender in a way he never is before the bite, but in a way he desperately wants to be with Keith. Feels the fluttering pulse beneath his lips. Smells the blood calling out to him.

It's normally delicious scent is twisted. Rotting. Sickeningly sweet and curdled sour all at the same time. It's not appetizing. It's not the scent that Lance is addicted to. But that doesn't stop the leap in his heart or the coiling anticipation that flickers through his veins.

His lips curl back, fangs aching as they extend, but the burn feels good. Familiar. Hunger and anticipation sharp and tense and waiting— waiting— waiting—

He sinks his teeth into Keith's neck, quick but gentle, and hears him let out a shuddering sigh. Feels him melt into Lance's embrace.

His blood is hot and heavy on his tongue. Thicker than it should be. Far, _far_ richer than it should be. There's an unfamiliar bite. Bitter. Strong. Sour. Burns at the back of his throat and spreads an uncomfortable warmth through his veins.

It tastes _wrong_. It tastes _strong_. Like blood concentrated. Compounded. Too rich. Too thick. Curdled. Spoiled. Rotting.

Still he drinks. Because Keith's breath has evened out and one of his hands is wrapped around his head, fingers clutching at his hair.

And slowly, as he drinks, Keith's blood changes.

The sour edge. The bitterness. The _wrongness_. It slips away. It fades the more he drinks. His blood thins out to a normal consistency. The flavor of it brightens. Like the sludge being washed away. The clog and slime being pushed through, letting his blood run clear.

It's still rich. Oh so rich. Smokey and crisp, just like he imagined. Sweet undertones and a sharp bite of spice. He tastes like he smells. His real scent. Not whatever dark cloud had been hanging over him.

This. This is the sinfully dark taste Lance had been craving. The teasing of which he's tasted with Keith's scent on his tongue.

He drinks slower as Keith's blood clears up. Doesn't take too much, but lets himself indulge. Just a little.

Then he pulls back. Retracts his teeth and swipes his tongue along Keith's skin to help the wound heal. Cleans his skin with tongue and lips. Presses another gentle kiss to the spot simply because he can. Simply because he wants to.

And then he lifts his head, gazing down at Keith, still leaning against him. Still cradled in his arms. The hand in his hair has gone slack, but hasn't let go. The lines creasing his brow have smoothed over. His breathing back to normal. He's pale, but no longer looks pallid and sickly. There's a cute flush high on his cheeks.

It takes a moment before his eyes flutter open. Dark swirling irises just as intense as before but without the pain. They pull Lance in. Take his breath away. The light from the lamp catch flecks of purple and make them shine. Illuminate _something_ in his eyes that Lance can't name but makes his heart do strange things all the same.

"Hey," He says, reaching out to smooth hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. He smiles, catching the ghost of a smile in Keith's tired gaze. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," He says, voice exhausted but stronger. His eyes flutter closed once more as he sighs. "Thank you."

There's a strange buzz in his veins, making him feel light and content, but restless and anxious all at once. Like he has too much energy. Too much strength. So much. He wants to run. Wants to sprint and push his limits. Feels like he could go for hours with this new energy that's sparking through his system.

He's always felt stronger after feeding. More energized. But this is something wholly new.

"Are you gonna tell me what that was?"

Keith hums, turning his face to burrow a little deeper into Lance's shoulder. "I will. Later?"

"Okay," He shifts then, reluctantly letting Keith go and lying him down on his bed. He instantly curls up, far more relaxed and at ease that he had been moments ago. Cosmo is there in a moment, jumping up onto Lance's bed to curl up beside him. "Will you be okay here while I go make sure the coven isn't freaking out?"

Keith hums, wrapping his arms around his familiar and burying his face in one of Lance's pillows.

He lingers in the doorway for several moments longer. Simply... memorizing the sight.

The coven is more curious than anything. A few of them seem shaken, but it's more burning questions than actual fear. They're familiar with Keith. All of them are. He comes by often enough, and Shiro has made it clear that he's a long time friend. No one bothers him, and Keith rarely talks with anyone besides Shiro, and, more recently, Lance.

He shows up every couple months, smelling like death and stinking up the place, but it's never been this bad. It's never hung in the air so thickly, spreading throughout the entire house. It's always been contained. They've never felt such a dark energy, crawling through the air and clawing at their instincts, telling them to run.

He assures them that Keith is fine, and that everything is under control. He debates calling Shiro, but decides to wait.

Instead he returns to his room. Finds Keith right where he left him. Filling his room with his deliciously smokey sweet scent.

He slips onto the bed. Slides up right behind him and cautiously curls around him. Smiles to himself as Keith pushes back, pressing the length of his body to Lance's chest, scooting until their legs curl together. He drapes an arm around Keith's waist, letting it rest along cosmo's back, digging fingers into his fur.

"How's the coven?" Keith mumbles.

Lance hums, nosing Keith's hair to inhale his scent. To assure himself that whatever had been there before was gone. "They're fine. Mostly curious. A little worried."

"I'm sorry. I thought Shiro would be back by now."

"He had to extend his stay with our sire. She needs help with something urgent, and, well, it's difficult to say no to the one who made you. She’s basically our mom.“

Keith shifts. Turning a little to look back at him. A small pinch between his brows. Lance leans back enough to look at him. "You said... _our_ sire?"

Lance grins. "Yup. Shiro and I have the same sire. Her name's Allura, and she's one of the ancients. One of the more benevolent of them, to be honest. More interested in changing with the time, instead of being a crotchety old vamp clinging to the old ways. She turned Shiro a long time ago, but I'm... more recent." He pushes forward again, nuzzling into the crook of Keith's neck and curling around him. He doesn't protest. Doesn't push him away. Instead, he leans into Lance's hold. "So, as I said before, Shiro isn't my sire. He's more like... an older brother? Kinda. It's why he put me in charge while he's gone, even though there are others that are older than me."

"This poor coven..." Keith mumbles, and Lance playfully nips at his shoulder.

"Don't be rude. I'm pretty sure I just saved your life."

His tone is light and playful, but Keith's sigh is heavy. "Yeah," He says, a weight in his low voice. "You did."

"So... you gonna explain that to me?"

"It's..." Being pressed as close as they are, Lance gets the immense pleasure of feeling Keith squirm. "A condition."

"A condition? Of what?"

"Of... my general existence, I guess"

"That sounds... pretty twisted, dude. Are you cursed?"

At that he chuckles, dry humor as he says, “Not unless you call my birth a curse."

"I definitely do not."

Keith hums, fingers busying themselves in Cosmo's fur. "How much as Shiro told you about me?"

"Close to nothing, to be honest. Does this have to do with why you show up ever couple months reeking of death?"

"Yes... I'm..." He squirms again, voice trailing off as he clearly struggles for words. If he could see his face, he knows the exact expression he'd find there. But he keeps his face buried in Keith's shoulder. Nosing along his skin. Loving the way he can feel goosebumps rise. "How much do you know about witches?"

"Mmmm nothing. Didn't know much about anything until I was turned. I know a fair bit about vamps and werewolves by now, but you're the first witch I've come across. Is this a usual freaky witch thing?"

"Yes... and no. Our magic comes from our bloodlines, and all our bloodlines trace back to the fey. The children of fey and humans... they're called elder witches. The original of us. They're not immortal, exactly, but they don't age. They can still get sick or killed, and otherwise function as an ordinary human, but they don't age."

Lance lifts his head, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at Keith, one eyebrow raised. "Are you an elder witch?"

Keith doesn't look at him, but his smile curls at the corner of his lips. "No, but my mom is. My dad was human. Half breeds like me... we usually only live to be about two hundred years old. Then the magic in our blood becomes too much. It builds up and it poisons us. We're too human to handle it. The more human we are, the shorter our lifespans. I think... anything less than an eighth elder witch leaves you with a normal human lifespan."

Lance's eyes narrow, lips pursing as he lifts his chin. "Just how old _are_ you?" He asks slowly, overplaying his suspicion to make Keith smile.

It works. "Roughly three hundred and thirty-eight, I think."

"You _think?_"

Keith shrugs. "You lose count after a while."

"Holy shit." He sinks back down to the bed, arm tightening. "Shiro told me you were old, but like... he didn't tell me you were _ancient._" Keith elbows him sharply, and Lance laughs. "It's okay," He murmurs, nosing the back of Keith's neck. "I've always been into older dudes."

Keith huffs, but despite his expressed annoyance, Lance can _feel_ the heat rising on the back of his neck.

"So, wait... if you're over three hundred years old, aren't you past your life cap? Is that what... what that whole _thing_ was?"

"Yeah," Keith sighs, curling small in Lance's arms. "My magic... it builds up, and when it gets to be too much, it starts to poison my blood. We found out a long time ago that vampires can drain the build up, and the excess is broken down in their system. Shiro says it doesn't hurt. Just... tastes bad and feels like a high."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Lance says, chuckling against Keith's skin. "So... Shiro's been keeping you alive all this time?"

"Yeah..."

"And... you can just... keep living, as long as someone's there to suck out the bad mojo?"

Keith snorts, voice lighter as he says, "Yeah, that's basically it. The build up poisons me, so as long as it's drained... I can keep going."

"And... this time?"

"I... told Shiro it would be fine. He tried to talk me into letting him bite me before he left, but I told him that I would be fine until he got back. I didn't realize how long he'd be gone. Didn't realize how bad the build up was already, I guess."

"So you poof into the coven house, reeking of death, and I get to swoop in like a knight in shining armor and save you." He knows Keith can hear the grin in his voice, but he presses it to his skin all the same.

"Something like that..." He grumbles. There's a long pause before he says, quietly and warily. "It's... different. With you. When you bit me."

"Hmm?"

He doesn't turn around. Doesn't look at him. And Lance can feel that he's reluctant to continue. But he does. Pushes his words out carefully. Cautious but driven by a curiosity that Lance knows all too well. "When Shiro bites me, it... it doesn't feel _bad_, but it doesn't feel... It feels... clinical? There's nothing strange about it. With you..."

"Did it feel strange?"

"No..." Keith says, and then, barely above a whisper, squirming against him. "It felt... good. Why does it feel like that with you?"

Lance smiles against his neck. Pushes a knee between his thighs and pulls his hips back until his back is flush to Lance's chest. "I think," He says, low and slow. Savoring the way Keith shivers against him. "You already know the answer to that."

* * *

"What're you doing?" Keith asks, leaning over from where he's perched on the counter, eyes bright and curious as he watches Lance crumple herbs into pan.

Lance gazes at him side long, one eyebrow raised as he picks the spoon up once more to stir the vegetables. "You're... kidding me, right?"

Keith blinks. "No?"

"I'm... adding herbs to the food?"

Another slow blink. Expression blank. "But... why?"

"Keith, oh my _god_." He can't help the incredulous laugh that bubbles out. "How the _hell_ did you live so long without learning how to cook? It's for _flavor_."

He sits back, leaning against the cabinets as he crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. "I know how to cook."

Lance snorts, reaching over to check on the rice. "Grilling meat and eating vegetables raw is _not_ cooking."

He shrugs, glancing away. "It's gotten me this far."

"Keith, there's living, and then there's _living_."

"That makes no sense."

"Here, try this." He holds the spoon up to his lips, waiting patiently for Keith to scowl at him before leaning forward to blow on it lightly before gingerly taking it into his mouth. His eyes light up instantly, hand moving to cover his mouth. Lance grins, turning back to the stove. "Good, huh?"

"Holy shit..."

He's glad it's actually good. While it smells _amazing_, that's pretty much all he has to go off of. Smell and memory. Food doesn't taste the same as it used to. Tastes a lot like dust with texture. The only thing that really tastes good anymore is blood.

Hunk has been helping him brush up on his cooking skills, and he assures him that his instincts are still spot on. Still, it's good to get confirmation from Keith that his efforts aren't wasted.

Not that he thinks it would take much to impress the guy. For someone so talented in so many ways, his cooking skills and diet leave a lot to be desired.

"We call that _flavor_, Keith. You may have lived for over three hundred years, but I'm going to teach you how to really _live_."

"Still doesn't make sense," He grumbles, picking at the loose threads on his ripped jeans. "How'd you learn how to cook?"

"My mama taught me. Always said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach." He shoots Keith a wink before turning back to the work at hand, a sad smile on his lips. "Well, she said it would help me impress my future wife, but I like to think the sentiment is the same."

Before _that_ particular wash of memories can truly wash over him, Keith swings out a leg and kicks his thigh. "You don't have to do this, you know." When Lance glances at him, he gestures to the stove, looking adorably shy. "Cooking for me, and stuff."

Lance smiles, leaning over to nudge Keith's knee with his hip. "Hey, you're feeding me now. It's only fair that I feed you, too."

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes as he says, "You're doing that to keep me _alive_."

Lance's grin only widens. "And I'm doing _this_ because I _want_ to." Then, softer. "I'm going to make sure you learn how to _enjoy_ things, Keith. That's what makes life worth living."

"What about you?" Lance glances at him, curious and captured by the intensity of Keith's stare. Not sharp. Not sad. Not much of anything. Just... intense. Looking at Lance like he's trying to pick him apart. "This new life of yours... is it worth living?"

Lance looks away. Looks away because Keith's eyes are threatening to swallow him whole. Because he's not sure he can meet that intense gaze as he pulls back the defensive layer around his heart. "It's growing on me..." He leans his hip into Keith's thigh. Smiles when he feels the comforting push back. "I'm learning how to enjoy life, too."

* * *

Steps, quiet in the night. Not quite silent, but not quite loud. One set unnaturally silent. The other carefully deliberate. One vampire. One witch. Side by side. The sound of their passage blending into the sounds of the night.

Lance holds Keith's hand lightly in his own, fingers loosely tangled. Locked together, but flexible as Lance goes out of his way to step on crunchy leaves on the path. Feels strangely good to make sound as he walks. Nostalgic to aim for the crunchiest leaves. Keith's small, amused smile is a plus.

Cosmo is out of sight, but not far. Lance can still smell him on the wind. Can still hear his steps as he stalks through the trees nearby.

The night is cold, a brisk reminder that winter is well on its way. They're both bundled, jackets and scarves. Keith's hair is hidden by a hat that slouches on his head. His fingerless gloves warm his palm but leave his fingers exposed and Lance enjoys their calloused touch. His own jacket is open, scarf hung loose.

While they're both prepared for the cold, it's more for the comfort of it than the actual need to ward off the chill. Lance doesn't feel it anymore, and Keith has a ring on his finger that's charmed to keep him warm.

Still, it's comfortable. Companionable. And Lance is content.

They stop every once in a while for Keith to check the talismans hanging from branches and to touch the sigils carved into trees. Lance carries the bag. Not because it's particularly heavy, but because it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, and manners haven't left him simply because his humanity has.

"What're these for, anyway?" He asks as Keith tucks an old talisman away and pulls out a new one, stepping over to the branch to tie it up.

"They're charms," He says simply.

Lance snorts. "Gee, thanks, Keith."

Keith doesn't turn around, but Lance can see the lift of his smile in his cheeks. "Protection, mostly. They keep other creatures away. Spirits and fey and demons. Werewolves and other shifters, too. I don't have one for vamps because... well, Shiro."

"And me."

Keith steps back onto the path, taking Lance's fingers in his and pulling him along the trail once more. He doesn't try to hide the fondness as he says, "And you."

"So you keep other supernaturals off your property like a crotchety old man?"

Keith frowns. "I just don't want to be bothered."

Lance snorts, shifting his weight to nudge Keith with his shoulder, whispering, "_Old man_."

Keith shoots him a scowl, but it does nothing to dampen his grin. He sighs, shaking his head. "They're not all to keep creatures out. They're also... protection for hikers. Keeps them from getting lost. Keeps them from hurting themselves. Keeps them from being attacked, be it by animals or each other."

Lance smiles, tangling his fingers more tightly with Keith's. Pressing their palms together and squeezing. "Sounds to me like you have a soft spot for the locals."

Keith scoffs, but remains silent, head turned away.

"I've seen the charms around town," He says softly. "I've been around you enough to know what your work looks like. They're super subtle. I'll give you that. Looks like nothing more than a little graffiti. A little something carved into a lamp post. Little bobbles hanging around town." He hums lightly, a bounce in his step as he swings their hands back and forth. "There's a reason the town here is so peaceful and safe, isn't there?"

Keith shrugs, eyes fixed forward. "I've got a lot of magic that backs up." It's nonchalant, but Lance is becoming increasingly familiar with his tells. Either that, or Keith has gotten worse at hiding it. He sounds almost... embarrassed. "I might as well do what I can to keep the town quiet."

"An old man who cares."

Keith shoves him, causing him to laugh and stumble, but doesn't let go of his hand. Pulls him back to his side with ease.

"You know what they call you, right?" Keith looks at him then, embarrassment draining away in the wake of his curiosity. Lance grins, leaning in close to whisper, "_The mountain man."_

Keith snorts. "That's stupid."

"I know, but they say you're a demon or spirit or something. They say you run around naked and howl at the moon."

Keith stops, turning to gape at him. "Excuse me?" His scowl deepens. "I am _not_ a werewolf."

Lance just shrugs, grin wide. "I know, but that's what the local lore says about you."

Keith turns, stalking back along the trail and tugging Lance along after him. Muttering under his breath. "This is what I get for entertaining them on Halloween."

"What happens on Halloween?"

There's a mischievous light in his eyes, even as he sounds aloof and indifferent. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

"Lance, wait!"

He freezes, already several long strides away from the porch. For as fast as he can run, he can also stop on a dime. He whips around, finding Keith standing in his doorway, holding onto the frame.

His hair is wild. A mess from Lance's own fingers running through it. Face still flushed. His shirt is askew, neckline stretched and revealed bruises on his collarbones that have nothing to do with Lance's teeth but everything to do with his mouth.

"Keith—"

"Wait," He steps out onto the porch, holding out a hand, clenched into a fist. There he stands, arm outstretched. Eyes dark and intense. Captivating and mesmerizing. Lips pursed into a determined little frown.

Lance glances up at the lightening sky. The darkness of night is already creeping away. The sun is well on its way, and he really needs to leave. But...

Keith is looking at him with those _eyes_, and Lance can't say no.

He'll just have to push himself to get back to the coven house before daybreak.

He rushes back forward, stopping directly in front of him. Watches the breeze of his quick steps brush through Keith's hair. He holds out a hand, and Keith gingerly sets something in his waiting palm. Stepping back immediately and shoving his hands into his pockets.

It's... a crystal. Of some sort. Black, by the looks of it. Though he's not sure what kind. It hangs as a pendant, shape raw and rough, though polished all the same. Smooth and sharp in turns. It's attached to a long black cord.

He looks up, but Keith's eyes are on the trees in the distance.

"Keith...?"

"It's... for protection. I... I charmed it myself." One of his hands move to fiddle with a similar stone that hangs around his neck, resting against his chest. "It's... connected to this one. So if you're in trouble, I'll know. And if I am... you'll know. You'll feel it."

He looks nervous. Uncertain. Shy in the way he glances at Lance before looking away. Lip, red and swollen, caught between his teeth.

Warmth unfurls in his chest. Heart aching as it thumps against his ribs. Curls and coils through his veins. He feels his features soften as he steps forward, deliberately slow, to pull Keith into his arms. To cup his jaw and lean in to slide their lips together.

It's not the first time.

Nor will it be the last.

But damn, does it make his head light and heart giddy all the same.

Keith's lips are soft and pliant beneath this. It's a softer kiss than their earlier ones had been. Gentler. Languid and slow as they step into each others space. He lets the moment stretch. Lets himself enjoy the feeling of them pressed together.

But then he pulls away, voice a whisper on his lips. "I really need to go."

He glances at the sky, already taking a step back, but Keith grabs his arm. Grip tight. Eyes intense and that determined scowl back in place. "Stay," He says, voice clipped and firm. Then, at Lance's surprise, his features soften. Melting away into a shy smile. "I can black out the windows in the bedroom. You'll be safe to sleep here for the day, just... stay?"

He sounds so small. So uncertain. So... hopeful.

How can Lance say no?

True to his word, Keith blocks out the windows. First with magic, and then with thick curtains for good measure. When Lance asks why he had black out curtains lying around, Keith shrugs it off but there's a blush high on his cheeks.

He sleeps in Keith's bed that night. His smokey and sinful scent surrounding him, dark and tantalizing. Sweet on his tongue. He sleeps on his back, as he usually does, with Keith curled into his side. Body tight and firm and warm. Legs tangled. Arms draped around one another. Cosmo curls up at his other side, back pressed against him.

And for the first time since he turned, Lance falls asleep smiling.

* * *

He sits on the ground, leaning back against Cosmo's side as the large wolf curls up behind him. While he's unbothered by the cold, the beast's warmth is still comforting.

He holds his phone in his hands, grateful that the chill doesn't make his fingers stiff as he plays several games. They're new. Ones that his friend Pidge has made. They've become incredibly popular lately, letting the little genius rake in a bunch of cash. But being on the inside, he gets to beta test the games before they release.

He's forever grateful for the weird twist of fate that had Pidge walking in on Hunk mid-transformation on a full moon all those years ago. It had been a chaotic night, full of panic and worry and excitement. But while Pidge had accidentally stumbled into their world, they had quickly become apart of it. Thinking on their feet, they had helped Lance hide Hunk and keep him from being discovered that night.

Since then, Pidge has always been a welcomed friend and one of the family. Despite being human, they had a way of just... slipping seamlessly into their world. Of accepting and understanding.

Last he heard, they were thinking about moving up here, too. Said things were boring without him and Hunk around.

His headphones are plugged in, one earbud dangling down his chest while the other rests snugly in place. Still, he keeps the volume down, feeling like despite precautions, he'll disturb Keith.

He sits several yards away, in his usual spot on his favorite cliff. Watching his rituals has become somewhat of a habit. He hadn't meant for it to be. And Keith has never said anything about it. But he's also never complained. Never asked Lance for privacy.

So he just... kept finding himself sitting with Cosmo, watching Keith move in his trance-like state. Beautiful in the moonlight.

And while he busies himself with his phone, he still glances over frequently. Watching Keith's practiced movements. Smiling to himself as he hears the click of runestones in a velvet pouch. Runestones carved from the bones of a deer he had hunted himself. Shaped by his own hands and presented as a gift.

He hadn't been sure if they would work or if they'd just be an ornamental piece in Keith's home. But here he is, using them during his full moon ritual. So Lance must've done something right.

Though the smile Keith had given him, so small and fond, when Lance presented his gift had already made the effort worth it.

When he's done with his rituals. Done with his prayers and done with his casting. He gathers his things and gingerly puts them in his bag before standing and making his way to Lance.

He curls into his side, pulling a blanket from his bag to wrap around them both. They tangle together beneath the stars, kept warm through charms and Cosmo's body heat. He shows Keith the games, laughing when he turns out to be hilariously terrible at them, though cute with his scowl. Eventually they end up watching movies on his phone, and Keith falls asleep tucked into the crook of his neck.

Lance carries him home before sunrise, cradled against his chest with Cosmo at his side.

* * *

Lance watches with rapt interest as Keith kneels down next to him, using his knife to carve a sigil on the large stone in his hand. Movements practiced and easy, sure and precise. Like most of Keith's sigils, the design somehow manages to look complicated during creation, but simple once complete. One of these days he'll have to learn what the runes mean. Though he thinks the art of combining them into new meanings is somewhat of an art.

When he's done, Keith holds the stone out, turning it in his hand as he looks it over. Eyes narrowed and critical. But then he nods, standing as he sheaths his knife.

Then he holds a hand out to Lance, nonchalant and expecting.

Lance smirks, taking Keith's wrist delicately in his hold as he moves his hand to his mouth. He knows Keith could have just as easily used his knife for this bit. But he didn't.

Lance gingerly presses the pad of Keith's thumb to the sharp point of his fang. It cuts through the skin easily, and while Keith doesn't flinch, a rush of air escapes him as he shudders.

Lance lets him go, the faint taste of Keith's blood on his tongue. A drop of sinful delight. A promise for more. It's a tease, and they both know it. Keith is mischievous and playful, but he's not cruel. He would only ask Lance for help like this if he meant to fully indulge him later.

They've fallen into a pattern. Born from necessity and their own indulgence. Keith doesn't _need_ Lance to drink his blood more than once a month to keep from feeling any ill effects of his magic build up. However, he gives into Lance's bite far more often than that. Once a week, it seems. Enough to enjoy, but not frequent enough to make him feel ill from blood loss.

Lance hasn't tasted the sour and burnt taste of poisoning magic build up since that first time. Neither of them have been strong enough to resist to let it get to that point. He doesn't think Keith's body has any time at all to build up anything at the rate in which they give into their desires. His blood is always crisp and clean. Sweet and smokey, with that edge of spice that burns so good. With a buzz of energy, of magic, but without the high.

So he knows, with the lingering ghost of sweetness on his tongue, that they'll be indulging again tonight.

He's just glad that Keith enjoys his bite as much as Lance enjoys biting.

Keith waits until a bead of blood swells on his thumb before pressing it to the center of the sigil. He mutters under his breath. Words that Lance doesn't understand but which whisper of power and crackle against his skin. He watches, transfixed, as the purple flecks in Keith's eyes spark.

His blood crawls along the carved divots of the sigil before seeping into the stone. The lines began to glow. Not brightly, but a faint, flickering orange. Like embers in a fire.

Keith then tosses the stone unceremoniously into the water in front of them. A gathered pool of somewhat still water at the base of a waterfall.

"Is that is?" Lance asks, eyeing the rippling surface. The stone is gone from sight, but nothing seems to have changed.

Keith peels off his gloves, dropping them on his bag at their feet, a smirk on his lips. "Why don't you try it and find out?"

Lance grins, and really? He doesn't need to be told twice. He shrugs out of his jacket, striding forward as he pulls his shirt over his head. And if he wiggles his hips a little more than necessary when peeling off his jeans? Well, that's just between him and Keith.

He does, however, make sure Keith is watching. And he is. Eyes dark and smirk on his lips.

It's not that he doubts Keith's magic, but a large part of him still expects the water to be cold. It is, after all, in the middle of autumn, and this is the run off from a mountain spring. But he's pleasantly surprised as he steps into the water and finds it warm as a hot spring.

He grins, wading into the pool. Arms outstretched to glide across the surface. "This is incredible."

He turns, waist deep as he watches Keith wade into the water behind him. Steps slow and deliberate. Giving Lance a good view of his body, sculpted from ivory, as it disappears beneath the dark surface.

Lance reaches out, taking him by the hips and pulling him close. Keith's hands come to rest lightly on his arms as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as he sighs. "You're incredible."

Keith's hands slide up his arms. Slow and light. Coming to rest over his shoulders. "I know it's not the beach, but... I hope it's good enough. It's the most I can do here."

"It's more than enough." Lance chuckles. "It's perfect."

Keith hums, fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Perfect would be taking you to an actual beach."

"_Perfect_ would be surfing in the daylight, but that's not possible anymore. Surfing in the moonlight, however, is pretty cool, too. One day we should take a trip to the beach."

"I think... I'd like that."

"When was the last time you left this mountain, old man?"

Keith slaps the back of his head, and Lance laughs. He shifts wandering through the standing pool of water and dragging Keith along by the hips. He finds a large rock along the edge to sit on. Leaving them mostly submerged, but comfortably lounging. He doesn’t know how far the warming stone's influence extends, but the water is still warm here.

He pulls Keith onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Keith leans back against him, resting his arms over Lance's. "It's been... a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Mmmm, a couple decades? Unless you count leaving to visit the nearby towns."

"How long have you lived on this mountain, Keith?" He asks, voice low.

"Over a hundred years. Give or take. It's difficult to keep track. Several humans generations, for certain. Enough to apparently become a cryptid."

"Holy shit... that's... that's a long time to be alone."

Keith stiffens, sinking a little in Lance's hold. "I wasn't alone. I had Shiro."

"Did he move out here with you?"

"Yeah, it was his idea first. He wanted to have a home where vamps could live peacefully and just... be unbothered and safe. Remote mountain towns are good for that. I followed him out here because I needed him, and... he's my oldest friend. It only made sense." He sighs, fingers tracing patterns on Lance's forearms. "So I bought the deeds to the land here, this whole mountain, and I made it my home. I help Shiro protect his coven, keep humans from poking around in their business, and we've been here ever since."

"That still seems... lonely. You could've lived closer."

He shrugs. "I like my space. I like the peace and quiet of my mountain. And besides, I'm..." He tilts his head, pressing his temple to Lance's. Ghost of a smile in his voice as he says, "I'm not alone anymore."

* * *

Keith's workshop is a comfortable place. A one room building behind his cabin home. It's also a complete mess, but there's an organization to the chaos. And Keith maneuvers through it as if he has the entire place memorized. Which, he probably does.

A few work benches. A few power tools. Drawers and cabinets filled with supplies and crafting materials. Shelves stocked full of bottles with all sorts of powders and liquids, labeled in his crisp handwriting. Dried herbs hang from the rafters in the ceiling in bundles. All sorts of them are nailed to the walls and the beams. There are barrels and drawers filled with rocks and crystals, others with slabs and chips of wood.

Lance doesn't know how he knows where everything is, but he does. Barely looking as he digs through supplies. Ducking instinctively out of the way from hanging bundles.

The smell of the workshops is comforting, homely, and earth. It's also extremely overwhelming to one with an enhanced sense of smell. Normally, he might just hold his breath. He doesn't _need_ to breathe, exactly, but it's a bodily habit that's hard to kick. Plus, he needs to breathe in order to smell or talk.

And right now, he's busy talking.

Filling the space with his own rambles, memories, thoughts. It's comforting, in a way. For a while after he turned, before he met Hunk and Pidge, he didn't have many people to talk to. Feels nice to sit in a comfortable space with someone who's willing to listen to him. Isn't bothered by it. Encourages it, even.

He thinks Keith might have also been tired of silence.

Lance interrupts himself, again with a sneeze, entire body rocking with it. He sits on a stool next to Keith, idly spinning back and forth. Keith works at his bench, hands dexterously and carefully carving sigils into thin wooden circles. Stocking up on his charms that he hangs around the area.

He doesn't look up, but his eyebrow quirks, along with the corner of his lips. "I didn't know vampires could sneeze."

Lance huffs, rubbing his nose. Shoulders hunched. "You try having an extremely sensitive nose. Early on, I used to find abandoned houses to sleep in, and oh my god, the _dust_."

Keith huffs a short laugh. Low rumbling chuckles. He doesn't look away as he works. As he patiently makes each charm with gentle fingers. But he's made it clear that Lance has his full attention anyway.

"Where was I?"

"Pidge."

"Right! Pidge! So Pidge might be a human, but they're spunky and snarky as hell, and I think you'd like them. They're coming up to visit soon, actually. And I was hoping maybe you'd like, to... I don't know, meet them? Pidge and Hunk and Shay?" He desperately clings to his confidence, but Keith looks up from his work. Knife stilling in his hands. And that's how Lance knows Keith can see his cracks.

He blinks. "You... want me to meet them?"

He chuckles, swiveling back and forth on the stool. "Yeah, man. They're like... my best friends. And you're..." He trails off. Unsure of what word to use. They haven't labeled it. What they have between them. Nothing seems to be enough. Everything seems so... ordinary. Not enough. Too _human_.

But they both know what it is. Even without the need for words. He feels it. He knows Keith does, too. Whatever they are, they're together. Friends. Lovers. Partners.

Keith smiles. Small and adorably fond. Maybe a tinge of amusement at Lance's squirming. "I'd love to."

He straightens, grin cracking across his lips. "Really?"

Keith nods, turning back to his knife. To the wood. To carving. "Yeah. They're important to you."

"Yeah," He says, smiling as his gaze slides away. Sweeps around the workshop before fixing on Cosmo, laying on a rug on the floor. "They are."

"You said Pidge was thinking about moving up here, too?"

"Yup!"

"Do they... always follow you?"

Lance hums thoughtfully, leaning over the workbench. Resting his elbow on it and leaning his cheek against his open palm. "Mmm, I wanna say no? But this is also the first time it's happened. So I guess, yes?"

Keith quirks a brow, setting a slice of wood aside and grabbing another. Putting his blade to the sanded surface. "What does that mean?"

"It means, like... We were all living in the same area for a while. It's where Hunk and I settled, and then Pidge came along later. Then I, uh... I moved out here. Hunk and Shay decided to follow. Seemed like a good place to start their own home. And Pidge... I guess they miss us."

Keith pauses, knife still pressed to the wood. He glances over, eyes narrowed slightly and lips pursed. He looks... thoughtful. And he sounds cautiously curious as he asks, "Lance... why are you here?" He blinks, and the confusion must be enough of an answer because Keith elaborates. "Why did you move _here_. You left your friends, the beach... to move to the mountains?"

Lance shrugs, eyes dropping to the workbench. He idly picks at a knot in the wood with a fingernail. "Where we used to live... it's where my family was. I... they know about me. About what happened. My parents, and siblings, and nieces, and nephews. I hung around. I watched out for them. I helped take care of my nieces and nephews when I could. Allura helped me adjust to this life, and then I moved back to my home town to help my family. But..."

He swallows. Feeling a familiar burn in his eyes. He bites it back. Holds back the dam. He found out pretty early on that vampires can, indeed, cry. But it looks like watered down blood, and that tends to be unnerving for others to see.

"My parents are gone..." He whispers. "My brothers and sisters are getting older. My nieces and nephews have kids and families of their own... They're all growing up and moving away. Scattering. I try to keep up with them, but... it hurts being in my home town now. It's not the same anymore." He heaves a heavy sigh, shaking it off. He rubs his nose and blames the irritation in his sinuses on the chaotic scents in the workroom. "Anyway, my sister Veronica, one of her kids lives up here, so she decided to move here to be closer to him and her grandkids in her retirement. Turns out this is also where Shiro has a coven house, so I asked if he would let me join them so I could be closer to family. He, obviously, said yes."

Keith is looking at him now. He can feel it. He keeps his eyes downcast. Keeps picking at the knot in the wood. Scratches the surface of the workbench until he starts to dig out a divot.

"I didn't know Shiro very well before this, but when Allura sires us... we become a new family. She only changes people who need help. I was... I was attacked by another vampire, one who was clearly intending on killing me. Allura saved me. Gave me a choice, really. And I chose to live. I don't know what happened with Shiro, but she saved him, too. Unlike a lot of vampire clans out there, she... she helps us keep our humanity. Teaches us that things don't have to change just because we have. Teaches us to respect and care for one another. For the world. So, I didn't know Shiro before I came here, but... he already felt like an older brother to me. Maybe like a cousin? An uncle? Whatever. Like family."

Keith's hand lands on Lance's, stopping his incessant picking. He glances up to find Keith smiling at him. Soft and gentle and so incredibly fond. There's an intensity in his eyes that makes Lance's chest tight and his body warm.

His other hand finds Lance's face, cupping his jaw. Fingers in his hair and thumb brushing along his cheekbone.

He doesn't offer any words of pity. Doesn't offer any condolences. Doesn't say he's sorry, even though Lance knows he could and mean it. He doesn't need to say any of it, though. Lance can _see_ it. Can see that Keith understands. Really and truly understands. Because he's not just feeling Lance's pain. He feels his own. He _knows_.

You don't live for over three hundred years without leaving people behind.

Perhaps that's why he's on this mountain in the first place.

"I'm glad you moved here," He says instead, voice low and gentle. Incredibly open and achingly earnest.

Lance smiles. Leaning into Keith's hands and turning his head to kiss his palm. "Yeah," He says, breath brushing between his fingers. "I am, too."

* * *

He wakes to darkness, but not the pitch black atmosphere of his room in the coven house.

While the windows in Keith's room completely block out the light, the door is open. Beyond it, there's the dim orange glow of the setting sun shining into the living room beyond the hallway. The light doesn't reach him. Not enough to burn or itch. But enough that they cast Keith's shadow across the room from where he leans against the doorway.

Lance blinks, eyes lazily roaming up and down his form. Taking in the oversized sweater that swallows his frame. It hangs askew, revealing one pale shoulder. Covers most of his hands and leaves just his fingertips. Hangs down to stop just above the hem of his shorts, leaving most of his creamy thighs on display.

When his gaze returns to Keith's, he's smiling. Lazy and fond and _knowing_ as his head leans against the door frame. He holds two mugs in his hands, both of them steaming.

Then he pushes off the frame. Silently slinks across the room to climb onto bed. Curls up next to him as Lance sits up.

They lean against the pillows piled by the headboard. Lance stretches out and Keith curls his knees up, leaning into Lance's side. He cradles his mug of tea between his hands while Lance lifts his own mug of warmed blood to his lips.

It's not bland, but still boring compared to the blood pumping through Keith's veins. But Keith’s been experimenting with adding different seasonings and things to Lance's morning meal. Doing his best to find different ways to keep bagged blood interesting. Wants to add flavor to Lance's day the same way he does for Keith.

He stretches one arm around Keith's shoulders, leaning over to press his lips to his temple. "Evenin', babe." He says, voice hoarse with sleep.

Keith smiles into his tea. "Evening."

He hasn't slept at the coven house in weeks. And if Keith keeps waking him up like this, he's not sure he'll ever go back.

* * *

"Dude, are you serious?" Hunk leans forward on the couch, eyes bright and grin wide.

Keith squirms under the attention, clearing his throat softly before hiding his face behind his wine glass. "Yeah, it's... really not a big deal. I do the same thing for my mountain and around Shiro's property."

"Keith's charms are _great_," Lance says. He lounges in one of the arm chairs in Hunk and Shay's living room. Keith perches next to him on the arm of the chair, Lance's arm slung around his waist. Fingers idly playing with the belt loops on his jeans. "I've seen them in action. One time I watched a group of college hikers walk past his memory charms, and they just _completely_ forgot what they were doing. It was hilarious."

Hunk's smile fades, pursing into a contemplative frown. "They didn't like, get hurt or anything, right?"

Lance shakes his head, waving off his worries with his own wine glass. The contents are red, but thicker than wine should be. No one in the room is bothered by it, however. "Nah, they were fine. Keith has protection charms hanging around, too. It's just to get them to turn around and go home before they get too close to his home."

"That's genius," Hunk says, awed gaze finding Keith once more.

Keith shifts his weight, looking away as he shrugs. "It's just practical."

"You're a genius, babe. Face it." Lance leans his head over, nuzzling into Keith's side.

Keith hides his smile behind his glass.

"It would be most helpful," Shay says, one hand on Hunk's back from where she sits next to him on the couch. Her smile is warm and welcoming and earnest. He's always liked Shay. Her and Hunk have always made such a warm couple. They helped him through a lot of dark spots in his new life. "If it's not too much trouble, that is. We could pay you?"

"No!" He says quickly. "No, it's... really not too much. I don't need payment. I'm happy to help secure your territory. It'll be better for all of us, and... I'd like to help Lance's friends."

Lance grins, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to rub his thumb over Keith's hipbone. "Aw, babe..."

"You know, we'd like to be _your_ friends, too," Shay says kindly, a giggle in her voice.

"Yeah, man! Oh, we should totally set up a game night again. Like we had a few years ago. Or a trivia night! There's gotta be a place in town that hosts trivia nights, and you know we're gonna have the upper hand with all the years we have between us."

"That sounds like a great idea, Hunk." Lance grins. "It would get this guy off his lonely mountain for once. It'll be good for him."

Keith huffs, playfully shoving his head away, but they're interrupted by a knock at the door.

"That must be Pidge," Hunk says, but Lance is already out of his chair and across the room in a blur of movement that leaves a breeze in his wake.

"Pidge!" He shouts as he throws open the door, scooping their tiny body into his arms and whirling them into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Oh my— _fuck_—" They wheeze, but there's laughter in their voice. "Let go of me, blood breath!"

"Missed you, too, Pidgeon." He sets them down, and they only get another breath in before they're scooped up by Hunk and spun around. But they laugh, despite their protests. And they get no reprieve as Shay lifts them straight off their feet in perhaps the tightest hug of all.

With initial greetings over, they turn to find Keith still in place on the arm of the chair. Wine class in his hands. Lance had been expecting some awkwardness. Some uncertainty and shy hesitance as he waits to be introduced.

What he hadn't been expecting is to find Keith staring at Pidge, eyes intense and focused and glassy in the light. Lips parted and breath stilted.

Despite being stared at, Pidge is the one to break the silence. "So is this the witchy boyfriend you ramble about?"

Lance grins, slipping across the room to Keith's side. Slinging his arm around his shoulders. "The one and only."

Keith breaks from his trance. Shaking his head as he stands, shoving his wine glass into Lance's hand. He walks across the room with a lot more confidence than Lance had been expecting, especially given how shy and uncertain he had been when meeting Hunk and Shay.

"Keith," He says, holding out a hand. There's a smirk on his lips and a strange glimmer in his eyes. "It's nice to meet you again. You're short in this lifetime."

Pidge takes it, lifting a brow as their eyes narrow. They look him over with critical eyes. Brows furrowed and lips pursed into a quizzical scowl. "Do I... know you?"

Keith's smirk widens. "You did. Several times, actually."

He lets go of Pidge's hand, reaching over to push up the sleeve of his shirt. He holds his arm out, revealing a sigil tattooed on the inner curve of his arm, just above the elbow.

Lance slides up next to him, hands in his pockets as he eyes the tattoo curiously. He's seen it before, of course. But Keith has several tattoos. A lot of sigils. This one is simpler than most, and when Lance had asked what it meant, Keith had merely smiled and said that it keeps him connected to an old friend. A druid he had met centuries ago. Keeps them connected through their lifetimes, or something like that.

"Holy shit."

He looks up, finding Pidge gaping at Keith's tattoo, eyes wide and mouth open. "Pidge, what are you—"

Suddenly Pidge is in motion, scrambling to shrug their jacket off, dropping it to the floor as they push up the sleeve of their sweater. Holding their arm out, and— There. Right where Keith's tattoo is. On Pidge's arm. Is a birthmark that matches it exactly. A shade darker than their skin.

Pidge gazes up at Keith, eyes wide and curious and awed. The rest of them stare, too. Silent and uncertain.

"What the fuck is this?" Pidge breathes.

Keith's smirk widens into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

* * *

Keith looks beautiful laid out before him, bare against the sheets. Dark hair like ink stains where it splays out against the pillow.

His pale skin shines like fire in the candlelight. Flickering heat and shadows outlining his body. Every line. Every curve. All of him, on display and bare and vulnerable. Spread out for him and him alone.

Dark eyes shining deep violet where they catch the light. Pupils blown wide. Lids heavy and lashes long as he reaches down, running calloused fingers gingerly along Lance's features, along his jaw, carding through his hair.

His own hands gently guide creamy thighs, thick and firm, over his bare shoulders. Fingers, long and slender, drifting incessantly over smooth flesh. Unable to stay still. Wanting to feel all of him. _Needing_ to.

He presses his lips to Keith's inner thigh, gaze flickering up the length of his body and holding Keith's as he drags lips along his skin. Feels the man shudder beneath his touch. Feels the goosebumps rise. Watches as fingers curl into sheets. As his chest heaves with heavy breaths, lips parted and eyes lidded. His half hard length heavy and flushed against his stomach.

He smells sweet. Smells smokey. Has a bite to it that makes Lance crave the burn.

He holds Keith's eyes as his lips pull back. Watches his breath hitch as his fangs lengthen. Watches the anticipation make his body tight and the dark desire flicker in his gaze.

Lance lets his teeth sink in, lips locked tight to skin as sinfully sweet blood fills his mouth, dark and rich.

Keith gasps, back arching beautifully off the bed, fists clenched tight in sheets and Lance's hair.

He looks beautiful.

He sounds beautiful.

He tastes beautiful.

And Lance loves him.

* * *

"Dude, you're _kidding_." Lance gapes at him, grin slowly tugging at his lips.

"Like it?" Keith asks, innocent despite that devilish smirk. He does a little turn, letting Lance get the full effect.

He's wearing a cliche witch costume. Or, rather, a cooler version of a cliche witch costume. Really, he looks like medieval meets modern goth and went punk. Complete with knee high boots, stripped leggings, a tunic, cloth belt, a ragged cloak, and— the pièce de résistance, really— a giant, wide brimmed, pointed witch hat.

Spiderweb black lace fingerless gloves and black nails. His hair is a wild mess of waves beneath the hat, black eyeliner highlighting those beautifully dark eyes, and black lipstick defining his lips.

Currently curved up in a knowing smirk.

Lance laughs, reaching out to grab his arm and pull him close. "You look fucking _amazing_. Even if it's a little..."

"Cliche?"

"Yeah."

"That's the point."

There's a huff and a nudge at his thigh, and he looks down to find Cosmo gazing up at him. His eyes shine brighter tonight, and his fur is _glowing_. Blue and gray and ethereal. Ghostly, in the right lighting. He laughs, reaching down to pet his head. "You look great, too, buddy. How'd you even _do_ that?"

Keith just smirks, coy and amused, sliding his hands up Lance's chest to rest his forearms lazily on his shoulders. "Magic."

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes. Of course. He should stop expecting anything else.

He pulls away, still holding Keith by the hips but getting another good look at him. "So you do this every Halloween?"

Keith shrugs, preening, in his own subtle way, under Lance's appreciative gaze. "I didn't mean to at first. A group of teenagers decided to go find the creepy house on the mountain on Halloween, and I scared them off so much that I guess it became a legend. Now I get hordes of trespassers every Halloween. The locals love to dare each other to come up here. See how long they can last. It’s tradition.“

"And you dress up. Like a witch. And scare the shit out of them every year."

Keith grins. Eyes crinkling adorably. Eyes glinting with violent flecks in deep, inky indigo. "It's the only time of year that I take down the memory charms. I put up new ones just for tonight. Things that cause flashes of light and brief disorientation. Ones that make shadows and whispers or footsteps. Ones that make the trees look like they're bleeding. Also Cosmo gets to run around looking like a spectral wolf. He's allowed to chase them as long as he doesn't touch them."

Lance's grin aches in his cheeks. "So... a bunch of cheap parlor tricks for you, but which actually scare the ever living shit out of the locals as they tromp around your mountain."

"Precisely."

"And they keep coming back?"

"I've heard that they consider it better than any haunted house. Probably because I actually employ magic to make everything believable. Some of them think it's all a big hoax, and some think there's really a witch who lives up here. I suppose they're both right."

He leans forward, tilting his head to trap Lance beneath the brim of his hat. Breath ghosting across his lips. Eyes lidded and glinting with mischief.

"If you'd like to join me, I got you a Dracula outfit."

Lance feels excitement bubble in his chest, crackling across his skin as he laughs.

* * *

He remains beneath the trees, enveloped in shadows. The darkness. Where it's safe. Where he's dwelled for the decades since his rebirth.

The night, however, is creeping away. The shadows shrinking with every passing moment as the sun threatens the eastern horizon. The darkness, his sanctuary, slipping away between his fingers.

Keith walks past him, Cosmo at his heels as they walk out onto the open cliff. Right to the ledge. Strong and tall and confident as he faces the eastern sky. His back to Lance. Hair catching the breeze.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks, eyes drifting from Keith to the sky. To where the lighter shades of blue chase the stars away.

Keith turns. Looking over his shoulder. His face is blank, but his eyes are intense. They fix on Lance. Blinking slowly. Swirling depths making Lance shiver.

He holds out his hand. Stretching it back toward the trees where Lance hides. His voice is a whisper on the wind. "Do you trust me?"

And that's all it takes.

He's already stepping out from the safety he's known for so long. Already reaching for Keith's hand. Fingers sliding together and holding onto him like a lifeline. He comes to stand at his side. Facing the eastern horizon.

His thumb fiddles with the ring around his first finger. It's a new, foreign weight. A heavy, thick band of gold. Perfectly fitted. Small, carefully in-scripted runes wrap around the band. A few sigils decorate the inside curve.

It's smooth to the touch. Small divots of the inscription catching on the pad of his thumb. He spins it around his finger. While a pretty thing, he feels no different. Has no reason to believe that it will do anything.

No reason other than the fact that he trusts Keith.

Trust him wholly and completely.

He winces as the first raws of dawn stretch over the horizon. Bright and blinding. His eyes squeeze shut, head turning away. Shoulders rising as he tenses. Hand squeezing Keith's tight.

He waits for the itch. The itch that always quickly morphs to a stinging burn. His body coils tight, ready to sprint for the trees and the safety of the shadows—

But nothing happens.

He feels—

He feels—

Normal.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, tension leaking out of him as his lips part in awe.

He watches the sunrise. Watches it slowly rise above the distant mountains. Watches light slowly chase the darkness away. Watches color seep back into the world. Watches it ignite the oranges and yellows and reds that paint across the rolling mountains.

Tilts his head back to gaze up at the sky. At the blue, crystalline sky. Starless and expansive and incredibly _blue_.

He closes his eyes, and he _laughs_. Giddy joy rippling through him in the wake of his relief. Of his disbelief. As the realization that _this_ is happening truly sinks in.

A squeeze of his hand brings him back. Has him turning to look at the man next to him. The man who takes his breath away.

Pale skin. Dark, messy hair. A scar on his cheek. Pink lips.

In the early light of dawn, he can see every shade of blue and violet in Keith's eyes as they gaze at him. As they crinkle at the edges with the smile that tugs at his lips.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to Keith's as his eyes drift closed. As he sighs and feels the warmth of the day start to soak into his skin. Not burning. Not stinging. But warm. "Thank you." He whispers, voice rasping and hoarse.

He feels Keith's hand on his cheek. Lets him tilt his head. Welcomes the press of those soft lips. Leans into it. Lets himself drown in it. Loses himself to it as day breaks around them.

Pulls back to gaze at him. To really take him in. The ancient witch on the mountain. The cryptid who runs through the woods with a wolf. The man who's currently staring at him, a vampire, a creature of the night, with an intensity that has his toes curling.

Keith smiles. A tilt of his head and a curve of his lips. His hand warm on Lance’s neck. Voice low and awed. Eyes alight with the brightening day. “I was right.”

Lance hums, putting a hand over Keith’s. “About what?”

He grins, voice breathless as he says, “You’re beautiful in the sun.”

And, as dazzling and amazing it is to see the sunrise for the first time in over forty years, for as incredible as it is to feel the warmth of it on his skin without the burn, he turns away from it. Turns away and closes his eyes and loses himself in Keith’s embrace. In his kiss. In the touch and taste of him.

And that’s okay.

He’ll have many more sunrises from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> To learn more about me and my writing, please visit my social media!
> 
> **My Social Media:** [Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wittyy_name/)


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